


Retreat, Recover, Riposte

by AccursedSpatula



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cybernetics, Fencing, Friendship, Gen, Recovery, fite me irl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: “Humor me,” Ardyn says, picking up the sabres. He holds one to Ravus, handle extended.“I don’t have the time to waste on whimsey,” Ravus says, and he takes one step backwards, about to turn on his heel.“Beat me once, and I won’t ask again,” Ardyn says. “Surely you can spare enough time to give an old man his comeuppance.”





	Retreat, Recover, Riposte

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the always amazing [sordes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes).

_What a miracle of modern science._

Ardyn trails his fingers over the gleaming black surface of the prosthetic, tracing over a carbon fiber bicep, down to the forearm, to the curved plate that Ardyn supposed was meant to be an approximation of the brachioradialis, then to the knuckles, the fingers all extended. All in all, it was impressive, Ardyn has to admit, a work of art created between Imperial engineers and surgeons.

Ravus refuses to even look at it.

He sits sullenly, perched on the exam table, and under the fluorescent lights he looks pale and weary, though his eyes are still hard, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Ravus has remaining arm curled over his stomach, hunched forward slightly, looking down and to the right, away from the garish mechanical socket that’s been installed in his left shoulder and the red, raw skin around it. Ardyn feels for him, he really does. He understands all too well what it feels like to lose something on a promise. If Ardyn were back in his prime, he would have certainly healed him, given him his flesh and blood arm back instead of this mechanical substitute, but fate hasn’t been so kind to either of them.

They’ll both have to make do.

Ardyn is silent as the technician enters and retrieves the arm. With Luna gone, Ardyn supposes that he’s the closest thing Ravus has to a friend now. Wordlessly, he watches as the technician eases the arm into the socket at the shoulder, twisting until the whole thing locks as Ravus grimaces. Ravus dismisses him before the technician can get a word out, and goes back to staring at the wall as if Ardyn isn’t there.

The arm hangs limply at his side for a few moments, until Ravus finally, _finally_ looks at it, the fingers twitching, flexing, then curling into a fist. His mouth sets in a line, assessing, and Ardyn steps forward, giving the sight a once over.

He hesitantly reaches out with one hand, holding for just a second before he lightly pats the cold, smooth black shoulder, finding the lack of give a little surprising. His thumb lingers for just a second too long on that seam where carbon meets skin.

“It’s just a scar,” he says, and Ravus looks him in the eye, expression unreadable. “We all have them.”

\---

Ravus isn’t the same after.

He’s angry and depressed on the surface, that much is obvious, but Ardyn can tell this runs deeper. He feels _incomplete,_ damaged, Ardyn suspects, because he was there once (although he lost more than an arm).

Ardyn gives him a week, lets him brood, and then, seemingly at random, summons him to the officers’ training rooms at Zegnautus. Although Ardyn doesn’t believe he will, Ravus comes, of course, duty bound as he always is, but his expression turns flat and he sighs upon seeing Ardyn there, seated at the bench, two round-tipped sabres resting beside him.

“What’s this?”

“Humor me,” Ardyn says, picking up the sabres. He holds one to Ravus, handle extended.

“I don’t have the time to waste on whimsey,” Ravus says, and he takes one step backwards, about to turn on his heel.

“Beat me once, and I won’t ask again,” Ardyn says. “Surely you can spare enough time to give an old man his comeuppance.”

Ravus inhales sharply. He’s smart, he knows what this is, of that Ardyn has no doubt, but he takes the sabre anyway, stepping past Ardyn to one end of the mat. But the sight of him moping is strangely disconcerting to Ardyn, for reasons he can’t articulate, and so Ardyn is determined to pull him out of this, no matter how much Ravus resists.

Ardyn grins, hesitating a second before following suit, taking up his own post. He grips his sabre in his left hand, making the gesture very clear, indicating that Ravus should follow. Ravus scowls, but he does, mechanical fingers coiling around the pistol grip.

Their first bout is a disaster. Ravus is far too timid with his nondominant arm, especially now, and he struggles to keep up with Ardyn’s barrage, resorting to several clumsy circle parries to put space between them.  It doesn’t take long until Ardyn is able to step in with a patinando, the round tip of his sabre pushed squarely into Ravus’ chest, blade curved out as he presses in.

“Point.”

Ravus accepts defeat with grace, with the demeanor of a man accustomed to losing. He nods, dips his head, then holds out the saber, offers the handle to Ardyn. But his posture is straighter, and there’s a bit more luster to his eyes. It eases whatever strange thing has taken grip of Ardyn’s heart and made him worry.

“I suppose that means I’ll ask again,” Ardyn says, a sly grin pulling at his lips.

\---

Three days later, they’re back in the room.

Ardyn is the one to summon him, just like the first match, but this time Ravus comes in proper attire, with his mask tucked under his arm. He’s more eager to dance now, but he still shakes his head and sighs when Ardyn switches his saber to his left hand, reluctantly mirroring him.

This round is far more polished than their first. Ardyn struggles to keep up with Ravus’ footwork; while his lunges are still clumsy, the parries more so, Ravus has clearly learned to use his superior reach to his advantage, keeping Ardyn at bay with graceful steps around him. It’s impressive, but Ardyn still beats him, this time the point of his sabre resting just under Ravus’ jaw.

“Point.”

“Again,” Ravus orders, walking to his side of the mat. “Or did you tire out after just one bout?”

Ardyn laughed softly, circling back to his side. Now Ravus is first to raise his sabre, Ardyn following suit. Ravus’ parries are still slow, but he’s improving, and Ardyn has a strange sort of pride bubbling up in him by the time he ends the match with a quick tap of his sabre to Ravus’ neck.

They’re both out of breath, but Ravus catches his breath quick enough. “I didn’t know you could fence,” he says, collecting Ardyn’s sabre.

“Oh, I imagine there are a great deal of things you don’t know about me,” Ardyn says, with a slight shrug.

\---

Ardyn had assumed it would end there, now that Ravus had a shred of his confidence back. It was enough to work with, he reasoned, and he’d pushed the boy slightly back on his feet, gotten him going once more.

But four days later, he gets a summons from Ravus, with just the words _Did you forget already?_ printed neatly inside in block letters. Ardyn laughs as he reads it, the note open over Bethisia’s latest reports on magitek development and a dossier on some diplomats from Accordo. Ardyn’s packing his things up before he knows it, leaving his coat as he sets off for Zegnatus. He can spare a little time for this.

Ravus is waiting for him there, practicing his tierce and quarte parries left-handed before the mirror ( _smart,_ Ardyn thinks, _he knows his weak points_ ). He wastes no time as Ardyn enters, tossing him his own sabre. Ardyn catches it with ease, fingering the pistol grip.

“I thought you’d had enough.”

“Your comeuppance is overdue,” Ravus replies dryly, “and I’m not one to leave a task unfinished.”

He takes up his stance, sabre in his left hand. Ardyn pulls his scarf away, tosses it to the floor, and raises his arms, throwing his right foot back. It’s a _real_ match now, and Ardyn finds himself nearly outmatched at several points. He’s forgotten just how arduous physical exertion is, especially fighting like this, and Ardyn begins to feel his age (give or take a millennia). Ravus is younger, stronger─in the sheer physical sense, Ardyn reminds himself─and he _wants_ to win, three things pushing him that Ardyn lacks.

Nonetheless, they’re not enough to tip the scales in his favor this time, and their bout ends after a good long while when the button of Ardyn’s sabre taps against Ravus’ ribs. Ravus shakes his head as he steps back, but Ardyn can see him smiling, and Ardyn finds he rather enjoys that sight. It gives him a strange sense of... ease, perhaps, to see Ravus in better spirits.

“Same time tomorrow?” Ravus asks.

Ardyn nods his acceptance.

\---

From there it becomes routine.

There are no more summons between them; instead, it becomes an unspoken agreement to meet in that room, same time, day after day. Ardyn always goes, even when he doesn’t feel particularly up to it; the sight of Ravus, so determined, with something like passion in his eyes, spurs him on. And besides, Ardyn wouldn’t want to disappoint him by backing out now─he knows how that kind of rejection can sting. He’s started to build Ravus back up, and Ardyn will see it through.

He can’t give Ravus his arm back, no, not like this, not as he is, but this... this he can do.

Ravus, for his part, improves rapidly. He’s more naturally athletic than Ardyn had realized, and a quick study to boot, figuring out all of Ardyn’s normal techniques and strategies. What he lacks in coordination with his left arm, he makes up for in reading a match, and Ardyn struggles to keep him on his toes as their matches go on. It feels like Ravus can predict exactly what he’s going to do before Ardyn’s even decided himself.

But every bout is always a thrill, a kind of excitement Ardyn hasn’t felt in years, in _centuries._

As the days go on, Ardyn finds himself letting his guard down around Ravus. It starts with small talk, and then they chat, they _joke_ (the High Commander has a surprisingly sharp sense of humor, who knew?), and before long they seem surprisingly casual with one another. It’s friendly, and Ardyn realizes he’s missed this sort of contact with someone, surprised that he’s found it in Ravus of all people.

Ravus buys him gloves midway through the second week.

After their match, he hesitates, box in hand, before he turns it over to Ardyn, almost too shy to look at him.

“Your grip’s slack,” he says as Ardyn opens the box, touches the leather gloves inside. “And you shouldn’t leave your fingers bare.”

“Are you worrying for me now?” Ardyn says, ending his question with a coy smile.

“I just want it to be a fair fight,” Ravus replies, tilting his head as he looks away.

\---

Ravus beats him four weeks in.

They’re very even matches now, and Ardyn has a sneaking suspicion that Ravus has been capable of beating him for the last week or so, but has been toying with him, like a cat with a mouse. Ardyn doesn’t think it’s out of malice or mockery, but rather that Ravus has, perhaps, strangely, come to enjoy Ardyn’s company.

The fact that Ravus might enjoy being around him is a notion that’s a little foreign to Ardyn, but one that he enjoys. It reminds him of better times, of better people, of when he himself was a better person.

Their last bout is an all out display. Ravus pushes him so much, keeps Ardyn guessing and reacting and planning, and Ardyn doesn’t think he’s ever fenced better in his life. Ardyn doesn’t expect it when the button of Ravus’ sabre sneaks past his parry, resting under his jaw, with Ravus drawn in close, his face mere inches from Ardyn’s own, both of them panting and wild. His eyes widen briefly in shock, before he blinks, and then chuckles.

“I suppose that’s it, then,” he says, as Ravus lowers his sabre and steps back. “Point.”

“I suppose,” Ravus answers. There’s a long silence between them, Ravus staring down at his sabre, laying the blade in the fingers of his natural hand, gazing down at his prosthetic. Ardyn shakes out his own wrist, waiting, watching, feeling that oddly familiar urge to comfort welling up in him.

“Thank you,” Ravus says, and his voice is raw. “For... all of this.” He swallows thickly, steals a glance at Ardyn, and then turns away to place his sabre on the rack.

“I’m free tomorrow,” Ardyn says, rolling one shoulder in a slight shrug.

Ravus stops, twists to look at him over his shoulder, and Ardyn can see the hint of a smile on his face before he nods.


End file.
